Chet and I drove into Boise City, Oklahoma, population of 1,142, yesterday afternoon with plenty of time to nap and have a nice happy hour. However, finding a campground, which showed many on the google map, turned out to be difficult. There were only two in town, both tiny, and one was full.

We thought we'd found our piece of paradise at an RV park in the tropics of the Yucatan; however, it didn't take long to realize that the 'paradise' part may be a myth.

My heart was hammering and I nearly missed the noise in the background. I had to strain to hear. There was a thrumming noise, constant in its rhythm that would be accompanied by a sharper whack, like the striking of a hammer. But then a new sound caused us to stop in our tracks — chilling my bones. A scream. I clutched Marty’s arm.

“What the hell was that?” I whispered.

The plan for that winter’s Mexico trip was for Mac and I to go to our usual west coast campground with our “beater” travel trailer for a month to visit and then say goodbye to the friends we’d made, before heading to the east coast to pick up my daughter Isabelle, also a diver, from the Cancun airport on New Year’s Day.

When we approached the trailer, almost like a switch had been turned on, I had a sudden and overwhelming need for sex. It was urgent and primal, nap forgotten. After we got inside I was totally focused on that need, and began undressing Marty.